Imperfect Forgery: (A Dark Romantic Suspense)

by G. D. Madsen

  "Have you forgotten Evelyn?" I ask, fighting the embarrassment of being called out. "You know, the short-haired blonde I was about to marry? The one whose murder you are supposed to be solving instead of grilling me about my personal preferences?"

  "Yeah, yeah..." He waves me off. "That's what we are doing now – trying to solve her murder. It doesn't change the fact that she was not your type. Out of respect for the dead, I'll refrain from listing her not so pretty qualities to you again."

  I choose to ignore his last comment, switching my attention to finding a parking space. For years, I refused to admit the real reasons even to myself. Being young and naïve, I hoped my snobby grandparents would embrace me if I presented them with a sophisticated, career-driven wife who had light hair and ivory skin – the complete opposite from the nature-loving Saharan nomad their son married.

  "I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings talking about Evelyn." Gregory seizes my arm before we step out of the car.

  "No problem. You were right, as usual." I pat his shoulder. "Let's just solve her murder, so I can move on with my life without her ghost following me around."

  It would be best if neither Evelyn’s ghost, nor the auction diva were on my mind tonight. Lava deserves my full attention.

  Easier said than done…

  The moment I set foot onto the pavement of the parking lot of the Academy, my determination bursts like a soap bubble. A slender figure with a blue canvas backpack hung over one shoulder, dressed in a plain white tank top, baggy khaki trousers, and worn-out white converses stands a few feet away from us. Oblivious to her surroundings, she appears to be soaking the sunrays through her skin.

  My brain takes a leave of absence, and the bulge in my jeans regains control, despite of everything I have learned about her.

  There is something magical and desperate about the way she appears. She holds her head up, but a frown in between her eyebrows suggests she could be on the verge of crying.

  Wind blows her loose long curls over her face and neck, and her lips tilt up slightly as she brushes the strands off without opening her eyes. The urge to kiss those soft, slightly parted lips and trail my tongue down her arched neck is all-consuming.

  I am beyond help.

  Not even the notion of her probable involvement in crime breaks through my primal state.

  "That's her," I say, my voice too husky to keep my condition a mystery.

  When Greg follows my finger toward her, a loud whistle leaves his lips before he adds, "Poor David."

  The whistling startles her enough to open her eyes. She presses the books she is holding to her chest like a shield, and her face turns pale as she watches us walk up to her. She immediately looks toward the parking lot, probably checking if the idiot I met last week is there.

  He is not. I checked a soon as I got out of the car. When she is convinced of it too, she looks at me and those pale cheeks stain rosy.

  "Could we talk with you for a moment, miss?" Greg asks, and her eyes widen at the sight of his badge. She cautiously looks around again, her lips trembling.

  Greg reassures her, "This won't take long. We would like to ask you some questions at the precinct."

  She shakes her head. A silent "no" is hardly audible, but it awakens a tornado inside my head.

  That voice...

  "No, you don’t want to talk to us? Or, no, you don’t want to go with us? Which one is it?" I ask, trying to sound formal and unbiased.

  Books hit the ground. She stares at me, the dilated pupils turning her eyes nearly black in bright daylight, any trace of pink wiped off her face.

  "I can't," she whispers. "I need to go..."

  Her eyes dart toward the building to her right.

  I lock her arm in my grip just in time to keep her from bolting.

  "Let go! You don't understand! I can't speak to you..." she whimpers attempting to escape my hold.

  Now I am certain – she is Lavinia!

  My temples throb as blood reaches boiling temperature in my veins, and my fingers dig deep into her flesh. She played me all along! That call was no fucking accident! She knew who I was the entire time!

  "You are coming with us," I voice my terms through gritted teeth, unmoved by her relentless struggle. "Don't make me arrest you for resisting a police officer!"

  "David, calm the fuck down!" Greg pushes me away from Lavinia and shoves the books he picked up into my hands. "Are you okay, miss?" he asks her.

  Lavinia does not respond, but she is not running either. She blinks fast and bites down on her bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. An invisible hand grips my heart and shakes it. The way her wet eyes pierce mine, makes me want to kiss her and hurt her all at once.

  "I suggest you go with us, miss. I would like to ask you a few questions about the night of the auction and the robbery."

  Lavinia doesn't ask what robbery. She says nothing – not a single word. The instant Greg delivers his line, she loses my eyes and stares past me like she no longer recognizes me.

  What the hell?

  She remains in this catatonic state all the way to the precinct and for the next couple of hours while Greg tries the impossible to make her talk.

  I pace around the room on the other side of the mirror, watching them. Only after the guard escorts Lavinia out, do I invade the interrogation room.

  "Man, I never saw anything like this." Greg brushes his hand up and down his hair. "She was emotionless and unresponsive to any of my questions – not a flinch. She refused water, touched neither the table nor the chair. Not even once, for fuck's sake!" He plummets back to his seat. "I have seen people determined to remain silent, but this is another level of silence. We don’t even have a name, except for the one you provided. Are you sure she is Lavinia Beltrani?"

  "I have never been more certain." Nor pissed. I fell for the trap like an idiot. Who calls strangers these days and chats with them, anyway? I should have been more suspicious! “Anyway, what happens now?"

  "We have nothing to charge her with, so we can't keep her here longer than twenty-four hours."

  "Let's hope the night behind bars will change her mind."

  Greg exhales loudly and stands up to leave. "I doubt it."

  So do I... Lavinia looked like a hypnotized doll ever since the word "robbery" was spoken. She did not ask for a lawyer, nor did she demand to make a call. She turned into an empty shell of a human.

  My friend might have given up and left, but I am not going home until I get my answers to questions Greg has no idea about. They are private – too private to share with him, too significant to dismiss.

  The arrows of the clock above the entrance door join at the number twelve by the time this place turns dark and quiet enough for me to sneak to the holding cells unseen.

  Persuading a guard, already pissed to be working the weekend shift, to enjoy a smoke outside is a piece of cake. I wait for his footsteps to fade away and unlock Lavinia's cell. It appears empty at first, and I begin to wonder if she was released, but then I see it – a mass of curly hair on the floor in the furthest corner of the room, her whole body hidden beneath long loose strands.

  The image shrieks of vulnerability so much I have to fight the urge to hug her and never let her go. That – the sucker reaction – pisses me off enough to slam the bars shut behind me.

  Metal clanking against metal causes the sounds to bounce off the walls.

  Lavinia leaps to her feet, frantically looking around, her eyes searching for something or someone that isn't me.

  She eventually looks at me, her huge eyes tearful. A mute plea fills the space between us, but I refuse to fall for her act. Instead, I walk to her and place my palms on the wall on each side of her head, hindering her escape options. Lava shuts her eyes.

  "Look at me!" I growl.

  She winces at the sound and glues her back to the wall as if trying to dissolve into it, but refuses to obey my command. "Look. At. Me!"

  Her whole body begins to shake in response.

 
I cannot ignore her anguish for much longer. Despite everything Lavinia did, those tremors are too severe to overlook.

  Fuck, this is no act. They give Oscars for less.

  I touch her forehead, covered with droplets of cold sweat. All of a sudden, the idea of breaking her feels repulsive.

  "Look at me." My voice is lower now, but it does not penetrate through the panic controlling her. "Please, Kahina..."

  Something shifts. Her long eyelashes flutter as the amber appears from beneath the eyelids, and her face regains some color.

  "David?"

  "Yes," I say, leaning closer. "I'm here."

  "Are you going to hurt me?" Her question rams into me like a wrecking ball.

  What kind of monster does she see in me? I allowed the spite to poison my mind without ever giving her a chance to speak.

  The flowery scent of her hair sneaks deep into my nostrils and triggers something deep inside my heart.

  Only a few hours ago I was dreaming of kissing her, and now, when she is within my arm's reach, I corner her like a terrified puppy, when all I want is to forget the world exists.

  "No, Kahina. I am going to kiss you..." Although, is there a difference when she is trapped in the cell? "If you want me to..."

  "I do." She sighs. "So unbelievably much."

  I trace the line of her jaw with the back of my hand and caress her hair. Her silky curls move in between my fingers like a living creature.

  Lavinia never ceases looking at me. "Your eyes are my life vest..."

  I am too far gone to try to examine her statement. My lips are almost touching hers. I can feel her delicate breath on my stubble as I slide one hand to the back of her head.

  "Not exactly how I envisioned our first date," I whisper against her mouth.

  She chuckles, igniting different fumes now. Our lips meet just when the door to the holding cells flies open.

  Fast approaching steps disrupt the silence, and it takes supernatural strength to pull myself away from her.

  "What the hell are you doing here?" Catherine's voice is a clear warning. "Have you and Greg lost your minds altogether? Her lawyer came to my house tonight and had the Mayor on the phone!"

  "What?" I cannot wrap my head around this. Lava did not contact a lawyer. She spoke to no one.

  Catherine opens the bars. "You are free to go. There is a car waiting for you outside."

  Lava recoils into a ball on the floor again.

  "What is happening? David, did you do anything? Do you have any idea—"

  "Shut up, Catherine!" I lose my composure. Dropping to my knees, I lift Lava's chin. "Hey, what's wrong? You can go home now."

  "No," she whimpers, refusing to stand up. "Please, don't make me go. I can sleep here..."

  "But why would—"

  "Lavinia," a deep voice cuts me short, and she shrinks. "Come here. It is time to go home. Your father is here to protect you now."

  Her whole demeanor changes on the spot. She stands up and walks past me. Only her fingertips brush against my hand as if to say goodbye. Her father wedges in between us when I try to follow her.

  "If you as much as peek in my daughter's direction again, I will sue this entire department for harassment and make sure you can't even work as a janitor in the law enforcement building!"

  The man wraps his massive arm around Lava's shoulders and leads her away.

  "Who does that fucker think he is?" I grip the bars, fighting an urge to chase them.

  The captain shrugs. "Somebody with broad connections, let me tell you."

  Chapter 8

  Lavinia

  "I said nothing, I swear," I beg Silvio for mercy once again. He towers above me like the statue of a punishing angel, a belt in his fist.

  He kept me on my knees for the duration of the ride over, pleading for mercy. He ordered me to crawl on all fours from the hallway into the living room and remain in this position while he poured himself a glass of whiskey and drank it. As he hauled me down the stairs by my hair, I continued to beg.

  I did not deserve the punishment. I remained mute as he taught me.

  "I am not punishing you, Lavinia," he roars. "I am teaching you obedience. When you are told to do something, you do it. If you are told to go home, you fucking do it! If I need to personally make you obey again, you will be punished. Now kneel and count the lashes before I choose to double them!"

  Unwilling to provoke him more, I kneel and shut my eyes. My teeth chatter from terror and cold sieving into my bones through my naked skin, as I wait for the belt to rip my flesh any moment.

  Still, I would rather take any number of lashes if this meant he would not have sex with me.

  Just when the belt slices the air above me, a doorbell rings upstairs.

  "You are lucky, Lavinia, as I made other plans for tonight." Father drops the belt. "The driver will take you back to your place. I suggest you spend the night working on that painting. Your deadline is tomorrow." He squats beside me. "If you think what I've done to you up to now was bad, fail me again, and you'll find out what I'm truly capable of."

  Silvio shoves me aside and leaves. I stay down until my heart stops racing. I lied to Silvio tonight. I finished the bloody painting days ago and concealed the truth. The memories of the last failure are still too vivid in my mind. If I can postpone the impending punishment, so that I can be alive enough to meet David again, I am willing to risk it.

  David…

  For as long as I can remember, Silvio deprived me of food, water, and sleep, but being deprived of David’s lips against mine made me want to lash out like never before. The kiss was all I wanted. I desired it so badly even my fear of Silvio failed to take over.

  My heart nearly stopped when he spoke. Never in my wildest dreams or nightmares, would I have imagined David to be a cop.

  He saw me with Mauro, Silvio, and that man at the auction. How can I ever convince him that my call was accidental? Would David ever believe me? But if he doesn't, why did he want to kiss me?

  When David's lips touched mine, something changed. He broke the invisible chains of obedience Silvio shackled me with.

  I did not want to leave the prison cell to return the misery of my life! For the first time, I hoped the escape was possible. Until Silvio threatened to hurt David.

  Father would not hesitate to destroy anybody who stands between us. He already destroyed Mauro.

  I stumble out of Silvio’s mansion in dirty jeans and a stained tank top. The driver keeps his eyes down as he opens the door. I curl into a ball on the floor while we drive and allow my mind to drift back to David. Every reasonable part of my brain warns me to stay away from him for both our sakes, but I am so tired of blindly following Silvio's orders. No amount of terror can weigh down the memory of the kiss.

  I would rather die than live without this kiss.

  Mauro sits on the sofa with a half-empty bottle of something when I enter the apartment. He looks like he's been sleeping on the streets for days, his blue shirt and grey sweatpants stained with something. His puffy red eyes shine from behind his lashes, as dark as the stubble covering half of his face.

  Mauro pats the spot beside him and sways the bottle my direction, spilling some of the contents.

  I hesitantly walk to him and take the bottle of clear liquid stinking like hospital disinfectant, but Mauro tightens his grip on it.

  "I am sorry," he whispers, and all the hairs on my body rise. He hasn't spoken those words to me for almost ten years now. Not since the night we were chained in our father's basement.

  Our eyes meet, and despite his drunken state of mind, I recognize the gaze of my long lost friend.

  "I thought if I became like Father, it would hurt less. I believed I would be invincible just like him; instead, I hurt you exactly as he did. I needed somebody to fear me, but I am the one who is afraid now." He blinks away the unshed tears. "I am terrified I'm becoming him."

  I sink into the sofa, shaken by the grief in his voice. "You're not him." I turn
to Mauro again, desperate to catch a glimpse of the brave boy who once swore to protect me and arranged our escape when I was fifteen, or the heartbroken boy Silvio forced to hurt me after we were captured.

  I retake the bottle from Mauro and chug the alcohol. My throat, still sore from Silvio's last lesson, burns as the liquid glides down. This torture is so much sweeter, and it gets me drunk enough to forget everything and everyone but my old friend beside me.

  Unfortunately, the headache the next morning is powerful enough to make me want to stuff my head inside the freezer. I roam the cabinets for painkillers, still in my over-sized T-shirt and night shorts, when Mauro comes in. He appears to be worse than I am. "Eggs?" I ask, a sympathetic smile on my face.

  "Fuck, yeah," he growls, sitting down. "And a bullet through my brain..." Mauro hides his face in his hands.

  I chuckle. "A pill would be enough."

  "Sorry, Lavi, I took the last one. Give me some food, and I will go to the pharmacy for you."

  It is almost surreal to hear him call me that. Everybody in the academy chose to call me Lava. "Lavi" carries the memories of our past; it represents the pain and the friendship we once shared.

  After Mauro leaves, I gather the dishes and place them in the sink, almost dropping the last one when somebody knocks on the door.

  Did Mauro forget his keys? I think to myself as I head to the front entrance. I open the door and nearly stop breathing.

  "David..."

  His blue gaze pierces me through, and I drop my eyes to his chest, focusing on the zipper of his grey hoodie.

  "I am returning your backpack," he says, holding my bag. "Can I come in?"

  I nod and step aside. He may be wearing a casual hoodie, a white T-shirt, blue jeans and black sneakers, but there is nothing casual about his demeanor or the way he walks past me as if he owns the place.

  Although there is not much to own. The bare walls and plain furniture clearly show this place is no home. This is a prison without bars.

  "Coffee?" I try to sound polite and distant, although the memory of his lips against mine taints my cheeks.

  He nods, running his hand through his messy hair, and I flee into the kitchen to restrain myself from touching him, while millions of scenarios of what might happen flood my brain.